


Silver-Tongue

by thewritingandroid



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: "These are not the droids you are looking for", Attatchment issues to be specific, Aye bro aren't we going a little fast?, Ben Solo - Freeform, Canon Universe, Don't bully me please I'm sensitive, F/M, I LOVE THIS IDEA, I started it the night after I watched TFA, I've been working on this since 2015, Knights of Ren - Freeform, Kylo Ren - Freeform, Kylo Ren Has Issues, Kylo Ren is full of conflict, Let's fuck around with force powers, Let's just invent a whole knew type of force sensitive, Loosely Canon Compliant, Okay Rats, SNoke is an asshole, The OC is baby, The knights are a little ate to the party, This takes place 5 ish years before TFA, but the execution wasn't great because I was 16, female oc - Freeform, so I recently enlisted the help of my bestfriend to refine it, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:07:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28158039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewritingandroid/pseuds/thewritingandroid
Summary: Rayla Loren-Prince was 17 when she was abducted. Now she is 23. Raised in the custody of the First Order in almost complete solitude for 6 years, Rayla is a changed girl. Her 'gift' (as the supreme leader calls it) has been honed, and now Snoke believes it is time for her powers to be unleashed on the world. But he's got more planned for her than just galactic domination. Suddenly Rayla finds herself a piece of a very dangerous puzzle, that threatens to tear her, and her heart, to shreds.
Relationships: Ben Solo | Kylo Ren/Original Female Character(s), Ben Solo/Original Female Character(s), Kylo Ren/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	1. The Discovery

"Hey! Saren! I can't keep up!" Rayla panted as she ran after her best friend. Leaf litter crunched under her heavy, battered boots, filling the hazy air with the scent of loam and damp earth. Low-hanging mist curled around her shins. 

"That's not my fault, you slowpoke!" Saren called back over her shoulder, her blonde hair streaming behind her like ribbons. Shafts of pale sunlight glinted off the dark gold, cutting through the interlocking branches overhead. 

"Aw come on! Slow down! Wait for me!"

Sighing, Saren came to a stop and waited patiently for Rayla to catch up. "For as long as we've been friends, you would think you'd be better at running." She placed a hand on her hip and sent Rayla a cocksure smile. The swaying trees cast odd, shifting shadows across her bright face. 

"Yeah well," Rayla had caught up now and flopped down on the ground. Mist swirled and plumed around her, rapidly fading as the day grew warmer. "I'm not built like you, and I don't have your stamina. Sit with me."

"Okay, but only for a sec." Saren dropped her bag and settled across from Rayla.

"Plus you're older, taller, you've got longer legs, and better shoes," Rayla was absentmindedly making a list, counting on her fingers, "not to mention you run this route every day."

"Okay, one; I'm only a year older, two and three are both valid points, but don't act like you’re short, miss 5'7" and still growing," Saren scoffed, refuting Rayla's arguments, "Four, it's not my fault that I chose to buy new shoes while you chose to buy books, and five, you run this route almost as often as I do. Now stop making lame excuses and let's go." She stood up and brushed herself off, knocking a collection of clinging leaves back to the dirt. 

_ Tell her to sit back down _

The words echoed in Rayla's mind. They sounded like her own voice, but they weren’t her thoughts. Something about them felt dark. Sinister. They felt like they came from very far away, from somewhere deep and cold, shadowed with things that Rayla was too young to understand. 

"You okay, Rayla?" 

Rayla snapped back to attention. Saren was giving her a funny look, slender brows pinched. She reached out like she was going to check Rayla’s temperature. "You look unwell. Maybe we should just go ba-"

"No no no," Rayla rushed, batting her hands away and scrambling to her feet. "I'm good. Let's do this"

***

It was roughly 3 hours later. Rayla was sitting on her bed, running a brush through her long red hair. The rest of the run with Saren had been uneventful, but she still couldn't shake a feeling of unease. That voice she had heard earlier haunted her. Who did it belong to?  _ What  _ did it belong to? Rayla didn't know, but it scared her. Just the thought of it made her hands clammy. 

"Rayla, dinner’s ready!" her mom called from downstairs.

Rayla opened her mouth to answer, but before she could, she heard the voice again. Her own mind, her own internal voice, but somehow other, laced with cold. 

_ Don't go down to dinner, tell her you aren't feeling well. Stay upstairs and talk to me. _

Rayla shivered. Her heart thudded, blood turning to ice. Her fingers curled into fists, and she looked to her window.

_ Do as I say Ms. Loren-Prince. _

Her mouth went dry. "How do you know my name?" Rayla whispered, barely a breath, almost inaudible over her sudden harsh breathing. Her eyes skittered around her bedroom, searching the familiar corners. 

_ I know a lot about a lot of things, young one. Stay and talk with me. I'll tell you about them. _

"Rayla? Did you hear me?"

"Yeah, mom!" She yelled back.

_ You're not feeling well. _

She hesitated. Dread settled low in her gut. Could she afford to ignore the voice? It knew her name. It knew her mother had called her.  _ Her mother. _ Terror shot down her spine. If she disobeyed, would the voice hurt her parents? Could it?

She wouldn’t risk it. 

"I-I'm not feeling too great," she managed.

_ You're going to skip dinner and take a nap. _

"I think I'm just going to take a nap."

"Is everything okay? Do you need me to come up?"

_ No. _

"No, I'm okay. I really think I just need to sleep"

"Okay, well," her mother hesitated, "I'll be up to check on you in a bit"

_ Tell her not to check on you. _

"You don’t need to check on me."

"Okay, honey, sleep well."

Rayla paused until she heard her mother’s chair slide out and then back in, and waited for conversation to begin between her parents. Their warm, familiar voices might as well have been half a galaxy away. She felt hunted in her own bedroom, and she hated it. 

"Who are you?" She whispered. Cautiously, she got to her feet and padded to her window, clutching her hairbrush like it could protect her somehow. Her fingers ached from the death grip she had on its plastic handle. 

_ I am known by many names, to many people. To you, I will simply be known as Snoke. _

"And who exactly is Snoke?"

She peered out her window. Everything looked normal. There were no shadowy figures peering up, into her room. She drew the curtains anyway. Her fingers trembled. 

_ I am very powerful. I know a great number of things. _

"That doesn't answer my question."

_ It was a foolish question, with no larger purpose. Wouldn't you rather ask me how we are conversing right now, or why I've chosen to converse with you? _

"No, I'm pretty sure I'm just going crazy." It was the only logical explanation, after all. She was losing her mind. Seventeen was a little young to start experiencing symptoms of schizophrenia, and as far as she knew, it didn’t run in her family, but what else could it be? Healthy people didn’t hear threatening voices in their heads. 

_ I can assure you, Rayla, you are not. _

Rayla was silent. Her stomach churned. People who were crazy rarely believed they were crazy. She sank back down onto her bed, hairbrush in one hand, the other curling around her coverlet so tightly that her nails began to bend. 

Hearing voices was never a good thing. Her mind raced. It must be some kind of mental breakdown. She had been feeling pretty stressed the past few days. Her finals were looming on the horizon, after all, and she wouldn’t be the first student in history to be driven over the edge by exam stress. 

_ You aren’t going crazy, child. I have been watching you for years.  _

Rayla’s stomach lurched. Her head jerked towards the window, the blood draining from her face.

_ For a while, your powers were dormant. I could sense that they were out there, but never where they were coming from. However, now that your hormone levels have increased, your powers have begun to manifest. _

"Powers?" She echoed. Her voice scraped and rasped in her dry throat. She couldn’t catch her breath. 

_ Rayla Loren-Prince, you are more powerful than you know. You are, quite possibly, the most powerful being in this galaxy.  _

"Me?" Now she knew she was going crazy. She jumped to her feet and began to pace. Who could she tell? Her mom. Yeah. Her mom. Her mom would know what to do. Her hands were sweating. The room felt like it was closing in. 

_ Yes. You are young, naive, and untrained, but I have only felt such raw, untapped power in a handful of individuals. You are incredibly special to me. _

Rayla bit down hard on her lip. There was a strange feeling in her gut, bubbling up under the panic. A strange, sick sense of longing, longing for what the voice was saying to be true. She wanted to be powerful. She wanted to be special. 

Didn’t everyone? 

_ You know it to be true. _

Did she know that? She’d always felt like the odd one out, but her parents insisted that everyone felt like that. It was normal for teenagers to feel strange and out of place. 

Besides, strange voices in her head, ones that sounded like her but used a different name, that spoke of strange powers and watching her, watching her for  _ years _ , couldn’t be trusted. And yet...

"Uh,” The voice hadn’t given a gender, but her gut said  _ male,  _ so she went with a cautious “Mr. Snoke... What exactly are my powers?"

_ You are a very specific kind of Force-Sensitive. _

Rayla was so startled she almost laughed aloud. "Me? A Force user? No way." Rayla had heard of the Jedi, of course, fairytales of powerful beings with laser swords and mind powers. Whispers and rumors of magicians that could bend others to their whims, that could move objects with their minds, that could turn the tides of war with the wave of a hand. She’d read about them, devoured stories of their history, fascinated by their impossible deeds. They sounded magnificent, larger than life.

_ Do you think I'd lie to you? _

Rayla had no idea. Her instincts whispered _truth. Truth. He’s telling the truth._ But she was reluctant to trust a strange, disembodied voice in her head, regardless of the promises it made. "I'm no Jedi."

_ There is more to the force than just the Jedi. If you don't believe me, walk downstairs and I'll demonstrate. _

Rayla choked. "No!” She spluttered. Her parents were downstairs. As enticing as promises of power might be, she wasn’t walking that dangerous voice right into the heart of her home. “I don't want to talk to you anymore right now! Go away!"

She stumbled away from the door, collapsing back onto her bed. Her whole body shook, and a headache pounded behind her eyes. A handful of silent tears slipped down her cheeks. She sat rigid on the mattress, waiting for Snoke's reply, but none came. After a few tense hours, Rayla slipped into a fretful sleep.

***

Snoke cursed under his breath. She had forced him out. He had been beaten by an untrained 17-year-old girl. Rage and greed burned in his chest.

He had to have her for his army, and if she wouldn't join him willingly, then he would resort to a different tactic. With her on his side and the boy he had ensnared, he would be unstoppable. 

He glared into the distance, thinking. Children were far easier to corrupt than adults. He counted on the fact. This Rayla girl would be no different. He tapped his spidery fingers on the arm of his chair, plotting.

He would have her. One way or another.


	2. The Capture

Rayla was dragged from blissful sleep the next morning to the sound of heavy knocking downstairs. She lifted her head, bleary-eyed, and blinked the sleep from them. The clock on her nightstand blinked at her. 7:28. Irritated, and still mostly asleep, Rayla rolled over.

Her mom’s voice drifted through the crack in her door. "Coming!" 

Distantly, the door clicked, and sudden dread slammed into Rayla’s chest. She gasped, shooting upright in bed and launching herself across the room, through the door, and down the hall.

"I'm sorry, who-" 

Rayla’s foot hit the top step at the same moment she heard the shot. 

She froze, muscles locking, mouth opening in a silent, breathless scream. 

Her father cried out, lurching to his feet. A bright red bolt found home in his chest, and he collapsed, smoking. 

A figure in white plastoid armor stood in the doorframe, blaster raised. Pale dawn light gleamed on his shoulders, casting a long shadow across the crumpled figure at his feet. 

Rayla’s head rang. Everything felt very far away. Unreal. This had to be a nightmare. Her parents couldn’t- they had to be- there was no way. 

Moving on autopilot, Rayla scrambled back to her room and slammed the door shut. She locked it, but she knew a simple bedroom lock wouldn’t stop a stormtrooper. Frantic, sick with horror and fear, she slammed her weight into her desk, shoving it in front of the door. It wasn’t much if her slight seventeen-year-old self could move it, but it was better than nothing. 

Heavy footsteps came up the stairs.

Trembling, Rayla backed away from the door. Her shoulders hit the far wall.

She was tempted to sink to the ground and start screaming, but if she did that, then she was dead for sure. She looked around, searching for something to use. Anything. 

The tablet discarded on her desk, her hairbrush, fallen beside her bed where she’d dropped it last night, shoes and clothes and a handful of nicknacks and photos, but nothing useful.

Her eyes snagged on the pale curtains covering her window. The thin, weak morning light caught in them, casting the room in hazy grey. She stumbled over and peered through the gap. 

Two speeders sat in the driveway outside her house. Two speeders meant, at most, four troopers.  _ No. Three. And they came for me.  _

A dull thud sounded against her bedroom door. The troopers were trying to force their way in. Rayla unlatched her window and slid it open, peering over the sill. She was only on the second floor. It was farther than she’d thought, but it wouldn’t kill her. Probably. Maybe. 

She moved to sling a leg out the window, but a glint in the corner of her eye made her pause. A holo, three figures beaming at the camera. Saren had taken that holo when they’d gone camping. She snagged it and stuffed it into the pocket of her pants. She’d never changed out of her clothes from last night, and she was suddenly, profoundly grateful for that fact. 

Holo safe in her pocket, she took a deep breath, braced herself, and clambered out of the window. 

The morning air was cold, biting at her cheeks, sinking through her clothes. Dew made the sill slick and treacherous. 

Another thud sounded. 

Now or never. She pushed herself out the window.

She hit the ground hard, pain lancing up her shins and knees, and rolled to her feet. The wet grass squelched under her, smearing her shirt with mud, but she didn’t hesitate. As soon as her feet were under her, she set off at a dead sprint.

Behind her, a stormtrooper hung out of her window, shouting. 

She ignored him, making for the speeder and praying that the keys were still inside. They were. Rayla slid into the driver's seat, shoving the key into the ignition.

The speeder rumbled to life beneath her, growling. Ray slammed the pedal down. She could hear the troopers behind her, but she didn't dare look back. The area surrounding her house was dense with trees, and she worried that if she looked back, she would hit one. 

She had reached the edge of the forest, about 15 miles away from her house before Ralya realized she was crying. The tears were hot, and flowing fast, making it almost impossible to see. Her chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath, and she allowed herself a glance back. No one was behind her. The other speeder was nowhere to be found. 

Rayla felt a small pang of victory, but it was hollow, and quickly replaced with hopeless misery. She’d gotten away, yes, but what now? Where would she go? What could she do? Her parents were gone. They were dead, and she would never see them again, and- a sob caught in her throat. In all her seventeen years of life, she had never felt so small and lost as she did them. Her chest burned like someone had plunged a hand into her sternum, taken a fistful of viscera, and wrenched. 

Her fingers were pale against the black dash of the speeder, spots of white yellow lifting on her skin as she pressed down hard, trying to control her trembling. It wasn’t working. 

She sniffled and looked around. Anything to keep her mind from remembering what she’d seen. Anything to forget that flash of red, red light, and the sight of her parents, still and smoking. 

She hadn’t been thinking when she’d driven away, and she was regretting it now. She didn’t think she could feel anymore hopeless– until she realized that the trees around her were unfamiliar. Her hopes sank one final inch. 

_ You're not lost. _

Rayla yelped and slammed on the brakes. The abrupt deceleration sent her lurching forwards, and she barely stopped herself from hitting her head on the dash. 

_ You have me. I'll always be there for you. To guide you. _

Chilly realization spread through her. "You... You did this?" 

_ You're just a child. You couldn't possibly understand _

Rayla felt like she’d been kicked in the stomach. Her voice came out raw and strangled, an animal sound that she almost didn’t recognize. "You’re a monster,” she seethed. Fresh tears tracked down her cheeks and dripped off her chin. 

_ You better get moving, my troopers may have gotten a little turned around, but I've helped them find the right path. How's Seran? _

Fear like nothing Rayla had ever known clawed up her throat.  _ No. No, please, no. Not Seran, not Seran, no.  _ "You wouldn't dare."

_ Oh, I would, if you do not do as you’re told.  _

In her mind, a silent nightmare played out. Seran, sleep mussed and yawning, smiling, falling to a bright shock of red. Seran’s parents, who had always been kind to their daughter’s friend, crumpled. Seran’s face as she saw it happen. Seran, screaming. 

Rayla swallowed back a howl of rage and pain, blinking hard. "What do you want me to do?"

_ Just drive straight forward, and don't stop, no matter what you encounter. _

Rayla eased the speeder forward at a crawl. 

_ Faster. _

Rayla sped up. What else could she do?

_ Good, keep going.  _

Five, ten, fifteen minutes passed, with no change. Just Rayla and the speeder. Then, she saw what looked like a speck of black on the horizon.

_ Remember child, don't stop. If you stop or even slow down, your friend and her family will die. _

"I heard you the first time," Rayla muttered. Her tears had dried. She felt numb, aching, like a peeling wall of plaster. Bland and crumbling. 

The black speck on the horizon was growing larger, beginning to take shape. She was heading straight toward it. No, not it,  him . The speck was a boy. A boy with long black hair. Rayla realized that she was going to hit him.

_ Yes, child. His life for your friend's _

For a moment, Rayla couldn’t process the words. They sunk in slowly, like a poisonous mist creeping across her conscious. "I... I can't..."

_ Yes, you can. It'll all be over in a moment, and he won't feel a thing. _

Rayla’s entire being rebelled. A tinny voice in the back of her head, the one that had started the second the stormtrooper fired his first shot, got louder; it was a high, staticky scream, suffering and denial and rage all tangled up into a spiky ball.

"No, I can’t. Killing people is... It's wrong! I'm not a killer!"

_ Yes, you are. You killed your own parents! _

"You killed my parents!"

_ No, I didn't. If you had just listened to me last night, your parents would be alive, and the three of you would be eating breakfast right now.  _

Something was making noise. A thin, pathetic keening sound, like a wounded dog. It took Ralya a moment to realize that it was her. 

The boy was dangerously close. Rayla could almost make out his face.

_ Do it, Rayla!  _

The boy slowly raised his hands in her direction.

"Don't make me do this!"

_ This boy is evil. If you kill him now, you will be saving countless others _

Rayla's eyes locked with the boy's.

_ He has already killed. Children. A whole school full of bright, talented individuals. He will one day go on to kill his own parents, to destroy whole planets. He will one day be a monster, like me. You would be doing the galaxy a service.  _

"But he's not yet." Rayla watched the boy close his eyes.

_ What? _

"He's not a monster yet."

_ Yes, he is. _

The boy flexed his hands and Rayla lurched to a stop. She yelped, falling onto the dash hard enough to knock the air from her lungs. Her foot was still on the gas. 

Rayla watched in horror as beads of sweat ran down the boy's face. He was holding the speeder still. He had stopped it without touching it. She was afraid.

_ You failed. _

Rayla struggled to catch her breath. "I... I didn't! I didn't stop! He stopped me!"

_ Get out of the speeder. _

She did as she was told. Once she was out, the boy stepped to the side and lowered his hands. The speeder shot forward, narrowly missing him. 

Rayla and the strange, dark-haired boy watched as it trundled slowly to a stop several yards down the path. 

"I'm Ben,” he said. His voice was deep. 

"I- Rayla." 

He nodded, and she took a second to really look at him. He was probably a few years older than her, though not many, his hair lank and long, tangled. He could have been handsome, if not for the sallow, hunted look to his face. He looked tired. 

They stood in thick silence for a moment. 

"Is he in your head too?" Ben asked at last. 

Rayla startled. She’d been… Well, she didn’t know what she’d been doing. That corner of her mind was still screaming, jamming her thoughts with its hysterical white noise. Her head felt heavy, her hands cold, like her body was a poorly made droid that she was controlling from a long way off. 

"Yeah," she croaked. 

"How long?"

"Two days."

He bristled, dark eyes flashing. "You're lucky."

Rayla jerked, stung. Her mouth fell open. For the first time since Snoke had threatened Seran, she felt something warm. A spark of fire in her chest. Defiance. Anger. Resentment. It burned, but it also yanked her hard and fast to the present. 

"He killed my parents,” she snapped. “I'd hardly call myself lucky."

"Years." 

It was so quiet Rayla barely heard him.

"What?"

"Snoke has been in my head for years."

Rayla heard a speeder coming up behind them, but she didn't dare turn to look. "I'm sorry."

Something complicated happened to his features before they smoothed into a sullen mask. "Now that he's got you, you will be." 

He raised his hand to her head, and the world melted to black.


	3. A New Home

"She is young, Supreme Leader. Maybe too young."

_ She is powerful. _

"She is inexperienced, nothing more than a child."

_ You were once in her place. _

"At her age, I not only believed in the Force, I was trained in it. Besides, she isn't even a true force sensitive."

_ With the proper training, she will be able to overpower even you. _

"If she agrees to be trained."

_ She will not have a choice. _

"If she is as strong as you claim she is, you won't be able to force her."

_ She will not defy me. In fact, I believe she will turn out to be a better pupil than even you. _

"Supreme Leader-"

_ I heard your little chat,  _ _ Ben _ _ , How dare you continue to use that name. _

"I didn't want to scare her. And... I'm still getting used to my new name."

_ Your ONLY name. Ben Solo is dead. You are Kylo Ren. One day the galaxy will fear and respect you. You will have untold power. _

"When?"

_ When I say so. Now go. _

***

Rayla came to, stiff and aching, somewhere unfamiliar. The surface below her was hard and uncomfortable, and there was a sour taste in her mouth. The air was cold and filtered. Her eyes felt sticky, and her head ached from dehydration.

She wished she could say that, for a few, precious moments, she forgot what had happened the day before, but she couldn’t. She remembered every moment in gruesome technicolor. 

She didn’t dare move, eyes closed, too wracked with fear to try and stir. 

_ You shouldn't be afraid Rayla, you are home. _

"Where am I?"

_ Stupid girl, I just told you you were home. _

That ember of rage was back. Her eyes snapped open, locking onto a plain grey ceiling. "No, I'm not. You destroyed my home when you killed my parents,” she spat. 

_ This is your home. _

It wasn’t, but Rayla had the distinct sense that protesting would be akin to arguing with a durasteel wall. The other party would be just as charming, and equally likely to change its mind. "Alright! Fine, whatever. Where is this new home of mine?"

_ Somewhere safe and far away. Where you can grow and learn. _

"Learn what, exactly?" Rayla asked, sitting up. Her legs ached from her leap yesterday, and her face felt puffy and tight. 

_ How to control your gift. _

"What gift? I have no gift!" She growled. She set a hand on her hip, feeling for her pocket. The holo was still there. She pressed her hand down, clinging to that one source of comfort, a bright spot through the miasma of fear and grief. The feel of it made fresh tears rise in her throat, but she ignored them, pressed harder.

_ Oh child, I almost pity you. You do not know the power that lies inside you. Don't worry, I will teach you. _

"And what if I don't want to learn?"

_ You speak as if you have a choice. You don't. You will learn, or you will watch your world die. You wouldn't want to be responsible for your planet's death, would you? _

Rayla’s mind sputtered and stalled.  _ Her planet’s death _ ? What the hell was Snoke playing at? She opened her mouth to challenge him, but the memory of his cold threats from the day before rose up. He wouldn’t make a threat he couldn’t carry out. She changed tack. 

"No."

_ Good girl. We'll begin training tomorrow. Get settled into your new room. _

"What about Ben?"

_ Ben is dead, and if you don't want to join him you won't ask about him again. _

Rayla inhaled a tiny, horrified gasp. "Y- Yes, sir," she stuttered. 

_ Call me Supreme Leader. _

"Yes, Supreme Leader."

And then Rayla was alone. Truly alone. She could almost feel the hollow spot in her mind where Snoke’s influence lurked. It was still there, still echoing and dark, but it was empty, now. 

She pressed a hand to her mouth, choking on tiny, hiccuping cries of terror. 

The room around her was grim and barren. She was sitting on the bed, a thin, uncomfortable cot affixed to the wall. Otherwise, there was a dresser and a desk with a lamp. A tiny plastic cup sat on the dresser. There were no windows, but two doors. The walls and furniture were grey, the floor a slightly darker shade of charcoal, and the lighting was an unfriendly white, which cast deep, sharp-edged shadows. It was nothing like the soft, welcoming blues and blushes of her room at home. There was nothing soothing about her cell- because that was what it was. It was a cell, and she was a prisoner. 

Once Rayla had gotten her emotions back under control, she pushed herself to her feet and stretched. She ached, stiff and sore, and several of her joints popped. How long had she been asleep? 

Cautiously, she crept over to the chest of drawers and dug through them. Basic hygiene supplies, hairbrush, deodorant, etc, in the top drawer, and plenty of identical outfits in stiff grey and black. She pushed down the crawling unease and turned to the desk. 

It was empty. There wasn’t a scrap of flimsi to be found, not a pen, pencil, or stylus, not even a tablet. No books. 

She moved on, to the first door, which opened onto a ‘fresher. It had a shower- a real, proper shower, with water, not a sonic one- a toilet, and a sink. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. 

She looked like a ghost of herself, pale and ill. There were deep purple bruises under her red, puffy eyes, and her cheeks and shirt were smeared with mud and grass. Her hair was matted and tangled, dark red dulled by dirt. 

She could do with a shower, but first, she had to find a hiding place for her holo. She fished it from her pocket and stuck her head back into the main area of the cell. She couldn’t spot any cameras, but that wasn’t a guarantee. Although there might not have been much point in a camera is Snoke could pop into her head at any time.

She shuddered at the thought and banished it. 

She could slip the holo into the desk, or under the mattress, but those seemed obvious. The lamp might work, but that wasn’t very hidden. It could be moved easily. 

She retreated into the ‘fresher. She couldn’t hide it in the shower without it getting wet, and though the holo was water-resistant, she didn’t want to risk it. It was all she had. The sink was designed with prisoners in mind and had few alcoves or hidden corners to tuck away contraband. The mirror, however, was a possibility. It was smooth, bolted in, but there was a chance Rayla could pry the frame out just enough to slip the thin holo behind it. 

It was worth a try. She crossed to the sink, slipped her dirty nails into the narrow gap, and started to pull. 

It took some doing, but with a bit of effort and a few chipped nails, she managed to create a tiny, tiny sliver of space between the mirror frame and the wall. She pressed a kiss to the surface of the holo, then tucked it into the darkness, where it would be safe. 

Satisfied that her memento was hidden, Rayla peeled off her filthy clothes. She’d been wearing them for at least three days, and it wasn't hard to tell. They smelled rank. It was a relief to tug them off. 

She dropped the shirt, pants, and underclothes to the cold metal and stepped up to the shower, turning it on and watching the steam rise. In the mirror, she could see a tapestry of bruises sprawling across her chest, stomach, and arms, from where she’d slammed into the speeder. 

She cringed at the reminder and stepped into the shower. Hot water hit her back, trailing down her spine. Goosebumps rose on her skin as she relaxed into the spray. The water ran brown from the mud caked in her hair. A handful of tiny cuts and scrapes she hadn’t noticed getting stung under the water. 

The downside of getting into the shower, private and soothing, was that it gave her mind permission to wander.

Ben was dead. Her parents were dead. Rayla herself was as good as dead. Locked up, a prisoner to a voice inside her head. Something jagged pricked under her ribs, and her throat began to close. She was too dehydrated for tears, so dry sobs wracked her shoulders instead. Her knees folded, and she curled into a ball at the bottom of the shower, clutching her arms hard enough to bruise. 

Her cries were loud, ragged and hitching in her throat. Even the spray of water wasn’t enough to drown out the sound, but Rayla didn’t care. Let Snoke hear her. Let the whole galaxy hear her. Let everyone know what had happened, what had been done. 

After a while, the hot water began to burn her skin. She reached up and turned the shower off. 

She sat in the shower a long time. Long enough for the sobs to turn into shivers. It could have been hours, but Rayla didn't care. When she could finally muster up the strength, she picked herself up, wrapped herself in a coarse white towel, and stumbled back into the main cell, leaving her clothes in a heap. 

Back in the bedroom, Rayla retrieved the hairbrush from her drawers and sat on the bed, methodically brushing through her hair. It was a long, slow process, and it hurt, but she persisted. It felt good to be clean, but she was cold. 

She needed to get dressed. She didn’t want to. She felt weak and listless, uninterested in anything but collapsing back onto the cot and hibernating, but the cold spurred her on. 

She pulled on a pair of black leggings, a long-sleeved black shirt, and thick woolen socks, then wrapped the towel around her hair.

Right. Done. She could go back to bed. Or…

There was another door. Rayla suspected she knew what would happen if she tried to open it, but, well, she still had to try. She set a hand on the control panel. It blinked red at her. 

_ You don't need to leave this room. _

Rayla flinched. She hadn't even noticed him creep back into her head, but now that he was there, his presence was unmistakable. Creeping and cool, it reminded her of invasive algae, sludge brown and slimy and spreading until it choked the rest of the pond. 

“I’m hungry,” she argued. A lie. She felt too numb and nauseated to want to eat, even though it had been more than a day since she’d had food. 

_ No, you aren't. You do, however, need to eat. Food will be brought to you.  _

"Why can't I leave? Am I a prisoner?"

_ No, I just don't want you getting lost. _

What a liar Snoke was. If she wasn’t a prisoner, she wouldn’t be in a cell with a locked door, forbidden from wandering, being spied on, the threat of her best friend’s death pinning her down just as surely as any shackle.

"How nice of you to care," she sneered, dropping her hand. 

_ Get some sleep. _

"Get out of my head."


	4. Day One

Rayla didn't sleep. The bed was hard and uncomfortable, and on top of that, she had the persistent, creeping sensation that she was being watched. She tossed and turned on the cot for what felt like a long time, but there was no clock in the room, no way to tell how long she had been there. When it became clear that, despite her misery, she wouldn’t be able to rest, she stood and paced until the ache in her bruised shins was too much.

A couple of times she heard footsteps or voices outside her door, but they were faint. Overall, it was the worst night of her life.

_ Wake up. _

"You know damn well I'm already awake."

_ Someone is irritated this morning. You didn't sleep well? _

She circled like a caged jungle cat, shoulders tense. "What do you think?"

_ I think you should clean up the mess you left in the bathroom. _

The dissonance of that statement struck her still. It was the kind of passive-aggressive instructions she’d come to associate with her mother on a bad day, or a particular brand of irritating school-teacher. She answered it with the tried and true response of teenagers everywhere.

"Whatever.”

Even so, she stalked into the bathroom. Despite her snark, she was wary of pushing too hard, of testing the boundaries too boldly. 

She pushed the door open and came face to face with her reflection. She looked better than yesterday, but not by much. "So can you just hear me whenever you want?"

_ I'm always listening. _

She felt herself twitch, one hand flickering towards her head before falling back to her side. She wanted to scream, half-tempted to smash the lamp into the side of her head like she could drive Snoke out by force. 

"Am I ever going to get to put a face to your voice?" She asked, gathering her dirty clothes. 

_ You will meet me today. I will be training you. _

"Yay," Rayla muttered sarcastically, "What should I do with these?"

_ Throw them away. _

Rayla paused. It was the answer that she had been expecting, but she couldn’t help the squeeze in her chest. Throw them away. Her clothes, one of the few reminders of home that she had, the few familiar, warm, comfortable things she’d kept, and he wanted her to throw them away. Well, of course he did. 

Pursing her lips, determined not to cry over a t-shirt and pants, she dropped her clothes in the trashcan and turned her back. When she entered the bedroom, there was a tray of food on her desk.

She hadn’t heard the door open. 

_ Eat up. You're going to need the energy. _

***

Thirty minutes later, a stormtrooper appeared at Rayla’s door. The gleaming white plastoid armor turned her stomach. All she could think about was the sharp burst of blaster fire and the thud of her parents’ bodies hitting the floor. The memory of smoke and burning flesh filled her nostrils, and her mouth went dry. She couldn’t bring herself to speak, and her escort was silent as he led her through dark, deserted corridors. 

The trooper brought her to a pair of large black blast doors. Rayla stared up at them and swallowed hard. Cold air raised goosebumps on her skin, threading unkind fingers through her red hair. Sourceless dread gathered in her gut. 

“Snoke-” Her voice rasped. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Snoke’s in there?” 

The trooper didn’t answer, stepping past her and pressing the door controls. They slid open with a hiss, revealing a cavernous room with glossy black floors and crimson walls. A massive figure lounged in a throne against the far wall, watching her with beady, lopsided blue eyes. Revulsion crawled up Rayla’s throat. 

She had never seen a creature like Snoke before. His features were wrinkled and worn, like ancient rice paper. Half of his face looked melted, spidery scar tissue winding down his twisted, sagging cheekbone and throat, left eye sunken, ensconced in folds of pale flesh. He was bald, revealing a grizzly scar carved deep into his skull, and he had a hollow, sickly look, cheeks so gaunt they seemed to draw inwards, pasting themselves to his teeth. Despite his ghoulish appearance, though, he wore fine golden silks that gleamed in the scarlet light. 

Snoke chuckled at her expression. 

_ "Are you impressed?" _

"Repulsed," Rayla snarked, clawing her fear back into place. “You don't look at all like I pictured."

_ "You are bold, child. Are you ready to learn?" _

Rayla lifted her chin. "I don't want to learn anything from you."

_ "I don't care about what you want. If you do not learn, you are useless to me, and you and your planet will die. I don't want to have to kill you; it would be a waste of your gift." _

The stormtrooper jabbed the muzzle of his blaster into her spine. She stumbled forwards, deeper into the room. The blast doors slid closed behind her. She was trapped. 

Rayla took a deep breath, struggling to stay calm. “What, exactly, is my gift?"

_ "Have you heard of something called a Silver-Tongue?" _

"No."

_ "It is a very specific type of force-sensitive." _

"I told you before, I'm no Jedi."

_ "Indeed you aren't. Nor are you Sith, like myself. In fact, you possess abilities limited to only one aspect of the Force. Have you ever noticed that people do whatever you tell them to?" _

Rayla blinked rapidly. Had she? "I... Well... I've never really thought about it."

_ "You have a beautiful gift of language. The gift to control any sentient being. For a long time, I've known you existed. The whole seventeen years of your life. I've been searching for you. I want to help you." _

Rayla scoffed. "You don't want to help me. You want to use me. I may be young, but I'm not an idiot."

_ "Indeed." _

Rayla pursed her lips, glaring at Snoke. He stared back, implacable. The near-silence rang, broken only by the faint whirr of recycling air and distant engines. 

_ "Well,"  _ Snoke said at last,  _ "Let's begin." _

***

Rayla sunk down onto her bed. Her brain hurt. Exhaustion dragged at her limbs. She wanted to shower, but she couldn't bring herself to move. Her whole body ached.

Despite the lingering pain from her training, something buzzed under her skin. She felt electrified, exhilaration lingering in her chest. Training had been terrifying, but strangely satisfying, too. She didn't know how much more she could take, but she also didn't want to stop. Rayla felt powerful. Dangerous. She loved it. She hated it.

She wondered if that was how Snoke felt all the time. She wondered if it was how Ben felt when he stopped her speeder. She wished she could do things like that. She wished she could control objects, too, not just people. 

For the first time in her life, Rayla felt a lust for power. 

She was hungry to learn more, to grow stronger. She’d had just a taste, and she wanted more. 

Not so far away, Snoke smiled, smug. He lifted one shriveled eyebrow at his other pupil.

"Did you have to tell her I was dead?" Kylo Ren asked.

_ "I did not. I told her that Ben Solo was dead.”  _

"She doesn't know the difference."

_ "And whose fault is that?" _

"I- Mine, but-"

_ "I told you she was strong." _

"She is, but-”

_ "I told you she would want to learn." _

"Yes, but-"

_ "She will prove a valuable asset when the time co-" _

"STOP INTERRUPTING ME!"

Snoke's glare turned cold. The air around Kylo Ren thickened, and he doubled over as the breath was squeezed from his lungs. 

_ "You WILL NOT under ANY CIRCUMSTANCES speak to me like that,”  _ Snoke snarled, radiating rage. His wrinkled hands curled, fingerlings digging into the arms of his throne. “ _ AM I UNDERSTOOD?" _

"Yes, Supreme Leader," Kylo managed to choke out.

_ "You are dismissed." _


End file.
